Chapter Twenty-Seven Fia #2
There was no reason to stay in the valley—Laoise’s fury had destroyed anything that might have been worth staying for. Water… food… shade. But as the draiglings lofted skyward, expressing our group’s growing restlessness in ever-expanding circles, an idea grew inside me.
This little valley—almost like the miraculous sinkhole in the Cnoc, save for its nemeton—had everything we needed. Earth, albeit blackened with hours of draig fire. Seeds, albeit charred and split. Water, albeit little more than a trickle.
And four tánaistí of four essential elements.
“Let’s stay.” I interrupted Wayland and Irian, discussing our next steps in hushed undertones. “Not forever. Just for the night.”
“We have no supplies,” Wayland helpfully reminded me, as if I could have forgotten the disastrous events of the past day. “No food, water. Clothes. Bedding.”
“Besides,” Irian added, “this place smells like a charnel house. I fear the insides of my nostrils are already coated in soot.”
A buried acorn—dropped from its tree in the autumn and left to overwinter as the seasons changed—rested a few inches below the topsoil in a corner of the valley relatively untouched by Laoise’s draig fire.
It responded to my gentle nudging, unfurling from the blackened soil in a curlicue of green before rapidly shooting to my height.
But then it slowed, even as I poured my energy into it.
“The soil is too dry—Laoise’s fire dehydrated the moisture. Can either of you—”
Irian understood. He glanced at the sky, which was clear and blue as an enamel bowl.
“If there were a storm gathering nearby, I could bring it closer. Lower the pressure to hasten the rain. But I fear there is nothing.”
“What if there were—” Wayland licked his lips with uncharacteristic nervousness. “I think there’s a spring. The stream fed off it, though it’s blocked now.”
“Can you call it?”
“I—” He looked almost shy. It did not suit him. “I don’t know.”
“Try.”
Wayland closed his eyes. At his sides, his hands curled into fists. I watched him, sensing his focus.
Droplets of water seeped from the earth, gathering like diamonds on the blackened soil. Wayland swayed, stumbled. Irian’s hands twitched; moisture misted upward from the earth to hang over the valley in an eerie fog.
“Where do you wish it, mo chroí?” he asked. “For the roots? Or for the leaves?”
“Both, ideally.” I glanced at Wayland, who was visibly weakened from the effort. His innate magic was not yet bonded to a Treasure. “But I wish it were warmer.”
“I can help with that.” Laoise had come up behind us, silent as a cat.
“Don’t you think you’ve done enough?” Wayland quipped, with his hands on his knees.
“Making jokes?” Laoise drawled. “In your state? Careful—you might use the last of your energy trying to be clever.” She faced me. “I was able to raise the temperature a few degrees in the caverns for Idris’s garden. I could do the same thing here, if there was a way to keep it from evaporating.”
“I can keep the climate contained to the valley,” Irian said, matter-of-factly.
Laoise’s feat was less visible than lofting fire between her palms or shifting into a giant draig with scales and teeth, yet just as impressive. The fog grew heavier and warmer. My skin flushed, a bead of sweat collecting at my hairline to dribble along my collarbone.
“That’s very good,” I said.
I closed my eyes, sending my awareness descending along the brutalized root systems spanning the valley. The trees had been old, well established. Laoise had utterly destroyed their trunks. Branches. Leaves.
All but their roots.
They wanted to grow. They wanted to live.
Everything did.
I sowed all my power—my Treasure and starshine alike—into the earth.
Every tree in the valley regenerated in a heartbeat, unspooling along the thread of my consciousness.
My magic made it possible; the heat and moisture held static in the air of the valley made it effortless.
Within moments we stood in a jungle—trees towering over us as ferns nudged our boots and flowers scented the air with rich perfume.
A few of the draiglings came diving from the sky to land in a perfect ring of mushrooms, which they proceeded to stomp on with their sharply clawed talons.
Linn pawed at the earth, then sent me a greedy image of her mane and tail growing to absurd lengths and turning rainbow colors.
“Well.” Wayland looked like he was trying not to be impressed. “I’m not sure we’ve solved the problem of food, water, supplies, or bedding. But it is more pleasant here than it was before.”
Laoise rolled her eyes. “You know, Wayland, I have heard it said one can perish from being too clever.”
“Oh?” Wayland said airily. “Then it’s no wonder you’re still with us.”
Laoise launched herself at Wayland with a growl. As they tussled good-naturedly amid the seething, expanding growth of the newly regenerated valley, I allowed myself the tiniest smile.
Things were going to get worse. But for now, they weren’t so dire.